Sparklets 




By 
MITTIE VON FINTEL 






STEARNS BROS. CO.. PRINTERS 
DELTA. COLORADO 



JAN -6 1914 



CI.A36:^C41 



Blow, ye breezes, and waft me 

Some sweet lullaby, 
Fragrant, soft, and balmy, 

Beautiful as the summer sky. 

With no haunted memories 

To stir the quiet still; 
Fold upon fold draping 

The purple of the distant hill. 

Afar, far in the dini 

That rises where the blue 
Is deepening the rosy rim 

With lofty peaks peering through. 

Whispers soft and tender, 

Bidding me e'er forget 
Joys so sweet to remember, 

Too beautiful to regret. 

Kiss the rose of dear Summer, 
Filled with fragrance wild. 

Where the soft breezes slumber. 
Murmuring all the while. 

Then drift into my chamber. 

When lonely in silence I dream. 
And give me the treasures gathered 
Ere you haste me down the stream. 



Poems by iiUttir non Mntei Page 4 



Soul that is caged, that is pinioned by Want, 
Starving for the sweet things Poverty denies, 

Longing for Time's coming vessel with plenty fraught- 
How vainly thy pinioned spirit cries! 

Would that I could flee from the hands of Fate, 

Whose cruel jaws have crushed my being to naught; 

Seeking, striving, yet seemingly too late, 

For when I reach the spot all is as nothing I sought. 

And yet why must the soul pine and yearn? 

Recompense — no, there is none. 
Life's vain, wild dreams grow cold and turn. 

For Fate the noblest of plans undone. 

Brave s]nrit dethroned, yet you must not fall. 
Though thy plumage bedrabbled, thy beauty torn; 

Onward, higher, in brighter realms installed; 
Fate's mistaken way thou must not mourn. 

Yet Want, like rust, eats into the ambitious soul. 
And stabs the w^ill till the heart is faint. 

Fate springs a leak in the brimming bowl. 
And turns the Angel into a Devil's saint. 

Life grows sluggish, weary and dull; 

The soul hath lack of all that's good; 
The nerves are unstrung, a perfect lull 
Seem to have taken possession of the braver mood. 



Page 5 ^aems bv ^ittie uun JFuitel 



Yet I must not slacken the rein that holds 
Life's purpose till th^re is naught, 

Or wait to gather from treasure-laden bowls 
Only the honey-dews with sweetness fraught. 

Onward, upward, O Soul! let thy flight 
Bear thee onward where no stain 

Can curse or brand thee with its blight, 
Or thy nobler purpose put to shame. 

P'ate, I scorn thy weak attempt; 

Is there not more in thy surging veins, 
Already moulded, determined, bent, 

Ihan all thy wily strategy claims? 



I opened my hand to the day, 

For the day was rosy and fair; 
I bid my feet hie away 

To the pastures go green over there; 
And the splendor of the day was so bright 

It trembled like dew on the wing. 
Filling up the gorge of the night 

That fell from the dawn of the morning. 
I smiled out to its beauty so chaste 

\Vhile I still held open my hand, 
For all around me was a flowery waste, 

Bequeather from God to man. 



Jtloems luj il-littie Hon JFintcl Page r, 



How fast the moments are slipping away, 

As a leaf borne on the tide; 
Till they've numbered years in their play, 

As they silently onward glide. 

Like a sweet drawn breath, and then 

We look far back to the past, 
So eagrly striving to mend 

The little we hold in our grasp. 

They're dying, dying; yet, oh, they seem 

So tender, beautiful and blest; 
Wooing the charm of life's true dream 

With the few dear ones that are left. 

They're passing, passing; their silent tread 

With the centuries shaU go; 
The dear, bright years with them be fled, 

Caught up in the rapid flow. 

They're dying, dying; the moments pass 

In the whirl of busy time, 
With many a change on the riffle cast. 

Ever wendihg on in its sweet-voiced rhyme. 

They're going, going, slipping away — 

The gilt-shod moments sweet; 
Oh, use them well while they stay, 

Don't trample them down with ruthless feet. 



Page 7 ^otms bji JMittic tton Mnttl 



life 

AVliat is Life if filled with regret, 
Or the sorrows that chill the breast? 

'Tis better by far that we forget 
And let fond memories rest. 

Why go seeking for woe or care, 
Or burden the mind with Fate? 

But open the heart to all that's fair, 
Ere we find we've been too late. 

Why not fill up, while we can. 

Life's goblet, brimming o'er, 
Wet with the sparkle of joy's sweet balm. 

Unmindful of the days of yore? 

For the river of Time is hurrying on, 

And ever changing our lot, 
While the beautiful dream will soon be gone 

And we enjoyed it not. 

Yet as Time doth silently flow, 

I'll bury deep in my breast 
The fondest, fairest hopes, and, lo! 

My heart shall find sweet rest. 

Life's empty goblet, full to the brim. 

Shall be as nectar steeped. 
Shutting the daintiest gold flakes in. 

Till I'd forget to weep. 



^Uums bti JiUttic \fon ^^intcl Page 8 



What is there gained by sittiag down 

With a heart as heavy as lead, 
Till there's deep trenches cut by many a frown 

On the hrov,', by Sorrow's constant tread? 

What is there gained if you have no grit 

To season the hardships of life, 
And nothing to spur you on a bit, 

Nothing to vex or cause you strife? 

What is there gained without pain. 

Unraveling Joy's deep glow; 
Clogging the wheels of the busy brain, 

Wresting the current's hurried flow? 

What is there gained — what is there left. 

By giving away to grief, 
Or musing over the years bereft. 

Instead of seeking relief? 

What is there gained unless you try. 

With all your might and skill. 
Carefully watching lest there slip by 

The chance that moulds the unbending will? 

Carefully watching mid storm or shine 

The noiseless hours pass. 
Catching the beautiful, rare, sweet wine. 

Filtering through Life's sparkling glass. 



Page 9 l^atms by jHtttic Itott JFiniel 



Where is there gain without pain, 
Where is there content or rest? 

Not in Life's parched domain, 

Not in the throbbing human breast. 



I mite fou 

The things tliat aro rich and fair. 

The things that make life's way 
With no sting of care, 

I cull them for you today. 
I cast them at thy feet, 

I bid them ever smile, 
The things you love to greet, 

So gladsome, joyous and wild. 

The things that brightly glow. 

The things that shimmer in light 
Like a soft-breathed tone so low, 

Gladdening life's short-lived night. 
The winds like the breath of the rose, 
Ever brushing lightly your way, 
And ere the sweet drecm's closed 
I give you eternal day. 



J3ocm« Ini i^^ittic \nm JFintel Page 10 



Trudging along by the waysides slill. 

Listening to the sighing gale, 
Watching shadows on the faraway hill, 

Listening to the summer's sweet-told tale. 

Out on the waysides chill and cold. 

Content to roam without a care, 
'Mid Autumn's ripened hues of gold, 

'Mid its beauties, flushed and fair. 

Out by the waysides still, to glean, 
Out by the wayside's dusty road. 

There to learn, there to dream, 
And cast aside Life's heavy load. 

Out by the wayside let me go; 

Some wanderer may be there. 
Heartsick and fallen, ah, so low, 

Of all that good they despair. 

Out by the wayside waiting long. 

For a word to lift them up; 
A faithful hand, an arm that's strong. 

To dash the poison from their cup. 

Out by the wayside, gloomy and chill, 

Many a wanderer doth roam; 
Oh, give them a word; oh, help to fill 

With joy Life's purpling gloam. 



Page 11 ^oems bi» ^ittif itan JFintel 



There's many a heart that's longing today 
To lay bare the aching breast — 

Some cherished thing they dare not say, 
A story you would ne'er have guessed. 

Out by the wayside, dusty and cold. 

Seeking some bosom friend, 
One that's not gripping the hand for gold, 

But one that's true to the end. 

Out by the wayside, in shadow and gloom, 

Thickly covered with dust, 
The choicest flowers ope and bloom — 

God's jewels and the just. 



|locms by iHittic Vmn 3Fintcl Pa(;e 12 



Blow, sweet summer winds, blow. 

Lift the silver threads from off my brow; 
You fondled gold ones in the long ago, 

And you may nestle in the gray ones now. 

The cheek once so fair and soft, 

All's withered with the scar of years; 

The pink thy touch freshened so oft, 
Faded by the v^ash of trickling tears. 

Blow, sweet summer winds, the same; 

I would not have thee forget 
How in childhood days you came, 

But murmur your secrets to me yet. 

Don't tell me of beauties faded bright, 
Or the dull sear the years have brung, 

But of happy faces and hearts so light. 
The same as you did when I was young. 

Tell me, as you're stealing on, 
The message thy murmurs hold. 

Heaping together the days now gone — 
Days of the richest liquid gold. 

Blow, sweet summer winds, blow. 

Garlands of summer roses fair; 
Blush the deepest red you know, 

A wreath to be for my silvery hair. 



Page 13 Querns im Jlittic tim JEintel 

Jlatr^ tire Worlb ^im$ 
(Song) 



It's those that hustle with a good will 

That'll move the world along; 
They cheer the downcast and they fill 

The silence with work and song. 

They never say what can be done. 

And carelessly pass on by, 
Or boast their strength when the victory's won, 

Or scorn the toiler's hard-heaved sigh. 

They do not wait for others to go 

And clear the unbeaten track. 
Or idly stand while others sow — 

Of courage there's ne'er a lack. 

It's those that ne'er fear the right 

That sing the gladdest song; 
With willing hand and heart that's light 

They move the world along. 

What is strife but a tonic for life, 

That we our part may do? 
It hardens the nerves and gives them an edge 

Till we scramble bravely through. 



J^0ems by ^rtttc tion Jffintd Page 14 



There's manj' a slippery, hard old climb 

Before you reach the top; 
Friends may prove false, but never mind — 

Just cling to your courage and pluck. 

The social smile so full of cheer 

May prove but a bitter frown, 
And those you deemed of all so dear 

The first to pull you down. 

Just steel your heart for a hard old jaunt, 

For you'll surely find it so; 
The more you strive the more they'll taunt, 

For there's many a shark and foe. 

Then move the world along, my boy, 

And never be afraid, 
For there was nothing ever won 

By idling in the shade. 



Page 15 Joema h^ Jtittie tron JUintel 



(©ly, |lrin0 Pent flippers ^om\ 

Oh, bring dem slippers down ter me, 

'Cause I'se gwine ter dancft an' sing, 
An' joy time it'll be, 

For memories glad dey bring. 
I see her smilin', I do, 

'Neath de vines an' flowers fair, 
I hear her warble an' coo, 

De same as when I was dere. 

Chorus : 

Don't bodder me; oh, keep away. 
For de recollections of dat happy day 
I'se glad, an' de memories dey bring; 
Don't bodder me, an' let me sing. 

Among de wil' sunflowers, yaller an' tall, 

Dat de breezes bent so low. 
She trilled to de mocker's call. 

Where de gentle southwinds blow. 
When de darkey was so happy an' gay, 

Where de honey-bee used ter hum, 
An' de little pickaninny used ter play 

When de banjo rung chum-chum. 

Just bring dem slippers down, I say, 
Dat so many long years sleep in; 

Dey's tucked de good old days away. 
An' I'se gwine wake 'em up ag'in. 



Querns Irj) ^Erttic iJun JRintcI Page 16 



De old eyes am faded so, 

But I still look through de lighht 

An' see de darkness come an' go 

When deey sported by de fireside bright. 



Jf \Uu l^wt Bill 

Oh, yes, you can if you but will. 
Just reach out a dear, loving hand; 

You can help to boost the lad uphill 

That's struggling hard on his feet to stand. 

You can say "Hello!" Now that is right, 
I'm glad to see you come our way. 

And add a little oil to the flickering light 
That his feet from the trail won't stray. 

Oh, yes, you can; and cun't you know 

How he's battling hard to win? 
You are not so busy but you can go 

And set the rails of the switch for him. 

Oh, yes, you can; I've heard before 
"Cant's" harsh, cold, scornful wail. 
And it's the "can'ts" that shut the door 
Instead of setting the switch of the rail. 



Page 17 ^oems Im il'liitte tton Jftnfcl 



Let the world say what it will, 
And turn you down for another; 

Unworthies are ofttimes found to fill 
The place of their more likely brother. 

You may tread the walks alone; 

You may pass unheeded by; 
There's naught in the burdened groan, 

And few that list to catch a sigh. 

The world cheers those in the race — 

Old comrades are forgot 
And pushed aside — there is no place 

If up-to-date you are not. 

Few seem to see the real life, 
Few that care just how it goes, 

But scorn at the trampling down of strife, 
Or stoop to soothe you in your woes. 

Let the world say what it will, 

Let them choose the great and fair; 

Does it say we're standing still 
Because we're out of the mad rush there? 



yoems bij ilUttic Hon IfinUl Page 18 



See that princely gilded mansion; 
Lo, I go and seek to knock; 

Not by earthly hands fashioned, 

Could my rap its whiteness blot? 

Can I enter at the portal? 

Loath 1 tread its stainless flight; 
But a weary, dusty mortal, 

Asking entrance into light. 

Tired of life's dark raging storm. 

And its temptations chill and cold, 

I haste to seek the protecting arm 

Of Jesus and His blood-washed fold. 

Just a lonely, friendless exile. 

Long a stranger on life's sea; 

Low I plead, "It is Thy child," 

And the gates swing a .'de for me. 

Did they hear my humble ])leading 
In that sacred temple fair? 

The faint cry of distress unheeding. 

Whispering to me, "Room is there." 



Page 19 ^oems Im jHtttic ttan J-^nfcl 



Tell, me, bright face, wliat is in thy heart, 

That smiles curl the ruby lip? 
Will thou the secret impart 

That the heavy-hearted from the fount may sip? 

When you smile the world grows brighter, 

Care goes roving, and the breast, 
Once though filled with pain, is lighter, 

For in that smile I'm soothed to rest. 

Oh, the peace it seems to give, 

As I journey long and late. 
Struggling hard to nobly live. 

Asking entrance at Mercy's gate. 

Tell me, bright face, in the world to come, 

As I journey, will there be 
One to smile when my work is done. 

And Heaven's gate open for me? 



J^iums by ittitttc Hon Jf^intel Page 20 



We dream of Tomorrow's treasure fair; 

We long for the promised draught, 
Its shining liquids old and rare, 

Rich surprises our every thought. 
The coveted joys, the cup of bliss. 

How we may eagerly sip 
The nectared sweets, like a lover's kiss, 

Yet it never moistens the lip. 

We dream of tomorrow, that far-away; 

We dream, and yet we know 
Never yet has dawned that day 

That we cherish and wish for so. 
Her shining dust by the hours blown 

Drifts on as the years speed by 
And few are the coveted treasures ownc^d, 

Few that sip ere the fount is dry. 

We dream of tomorrow, we say it's near. 

And the bosom's content at last; 
But wait till that tomorrow's here 

And it's laid away with the past. 
Its shining folds have made the shroud 

That tucked our lives within. 
And the dream of life but a filmy cloud 

That bore us out on its silvery wing. 



Page 21 f oms % Miitu tron JFttttel 



i:!fe Castle 'Sr0ni$l?t 

How still, how lonely and bleak 

Is the old home, the castle, tonight; 
The winds are soughing, the shadows creep 

Like a phantom on the dim moonlight. 

All is emptiness, as if swallowed by space; 

The things once so beautifully fair, 
Like the sweet roses that filled the vase, 

Hath only the perfume left it there. 

Yet I list for a soft refrain. 

When only an echo mocks back to me, 
Long past, and perhaps ne'er again 

For joy's glad breath to stir the heart's dead key. 

I look out into the night's great deep; 

All is hushed; a pall-like still 
Hath robed the light in shadows bleak. 

And touched the gales with an icy chill. 

I hie back to the old fireplace. 

Its crackling coals to embers burnt low, 

And the fire-irons' grinning face 

Grins back at me as in the long ago. 

The chairs — ah, the chairs; how many they seem! 

I shove them rudely aside — away. 
Like one just waking from a dream. 

Long dreamt, and as if it were today. 



J^acma hy Jlttttc iJon JFintcl Page 22 



I touch the buffet's embroidered throw, 

The dust falls thick from its rose-bordered edge; 

The glasses where the wine's red, sparkling glow, 
Filled to brimming, is empty instead. 

I walk, I turn, I stare into space; 

The banquet hall's long deserted, and the guests 
Missing; none are there to fill the place; 

How silent! How strange I feel! How dead my breast! 

As I look through the parted door, 

Rusted on its hinges till it creaks, 
A perfumed kerchief I lift from the floor. 

For it may have touched the blush on my darling's cheek. 

How clammy my brow! How ghastly the vision I see! 

Hush! It seeme as if there is one astir. 
I advance to greet thy slender, beautiful form, my Dorothy! 

When all is emptiness; there is no one near. 

I look into the mirror to make sure things are so, 

A strange face i^ gazing into mine; 
Not that lordly, keen visage — ah, no! 

No semblance; for the eyes are bleared with wine. 

A child's soft, chubby fingers touch my coat, 

I seem to clasp it to my bosom, and — 
Its little fat arms are wound around my throat. 

While I live the years, the happy years, all o'er again. 



Page 23 f acma by Jlittte ban Jffintel 



It is only home, just home, to me tonight, 

From out of my hands tomorrow all passes out; 

Ruin — ah, bankruptcy — has served me right! 
An outcast, a vagabond, henceforth, and tonight. 

Am I to take the place of one of those miserable curs, 
Only human in form, lolling around the low resorts; 

No sweet baby face — no remembrance of hers, 
To awaken my drowsy being by its keen retorts? 

Hope long has died; the heart feels no shame; 

Ambition's dreams, too, are dead; 
Ah, Life, so full of promise; yes, once an honored name. 

Now smothered out by the dissolute walks I tread. 

That sickening fear, how keen the thrust! 

Till I choke, and my throat — how dry! 
Just one more goblet — I must! I must! 

Ah, the last sou is gone; I am down and broke. 

Is my brain reeling? Something hath brushed my cheek, 
Like the sweet breath of some creature dear; 

I hear a laugh, the crowing of a baby; ah, me, am I so weak 
As to hope again that the loved ones of yore are near? 

With outstretched hand and lips parched dry, 
He staggered and sank limply upon the floor, 

With face bloodless, one last, bitter sigh, 
And all for him of life was o'er. 



^0cms by ^^itttic tton JFintel Page 24 



Did you ever hear of the fairy old man 
That sailed in his new wind boat, 

Then took the stars out in his hand 
To embroider his golden coat, 

That soared and soared up so high 

That his hair took root in the beautiful sky? 

Until one day a great wind came 
And shook awful hard and loud; 

The lightning set his boat aflame 

And turned him to a cloud. 
"Ah, then," said he, "this will not do; 

I'll wear a crown made of the blue." 

But it was not long till the sun arose 
With its flood of golden light. 

And he tried to gather up the glows 
That made the earth so bright. 
"I'll keep them all," said he, "I will. 

And be a fairy old man still.' 

"I'll put them all together, too, 

And build another boat; 
I'll make it of the far-off blue, 

And lace it with the stars that float; 
I'll deck my crown just as I please, 
And sail my boat on the windy seas. 



Page 25 l^atms Up fiMtiit t»on ^^tnfel 



So the funny old man is still up there, 
For he never would come back; 

His pathway is the milky way so fair, 
And they call him Fairy Jack; 

He takes the stars to button his coat, 

For he's wise, and full of many a joke. 



CSettts 

I have often wished that I could let pass by 
The hard things that of me are said, 
And greet mine enemy with a welcome smile, 
And would if I could only forget. 



^oems hv ^itiU Hon Jfftntel Page 26 



#Uicctlycart, Jet JRe #m0 t\}t ^mx^s 

Sweetheart, let me repeat again 

The songs I once to you sang, 

As I catch the wind from thy scented fan. 

As you sit in the shadow, 

Fair Luna's light kissing the meadow, 

Tell me the dream I wish to know. 

Naides, awake the laughter, 

Like scented breath of roses waft her 

To bless the ever hereafter. 

A mystic touch the golden wand! 
How can I sing when you fan? 
I grow forgetful that I can. 

I look into those fathomless eyes, 
A world of meaning in them lies, 
A something born that never dies. 

Sweetheart, take it as a whole, 
Man would have a living soul, 
Did not love dash to naught his bowl. 

Let me sing as once I« sang, 

My heart free from every pang: 

Like a wild bird's notes of joy it rang. 



Page 27 Joems h^ jUittb tron JKintcl 



As fair Luna's lamp of gold 

Burns an increase for life's bowl. 

We'll sing those melodies sweet and old. 

Awake the dream harp of the past. 
Touch but the chords of joy that last, 
Brilliantly glowing as a rainbow's flash. 

As the scent of the roses red 

Clings to the folds of the fan you spread, 

Then the crumbled part's no longer dead. 

I seem to see youth's rose dawn break; 
Shimmering fancies glow and wake, 
Love of my heart, all for thy sake. 

Blessed the dreaming joy so wild; 

I quaff the foaming cup yet awhile. 

As fancy pictures thee in thy beautiful smile. 

Did she step in — out and go — 

Like a vision touched by the sunset's glow, 

To feed my soul on remorse asd woe? 

Ah! I look — ^has it been a dream? 

No; 'tis the blessed truth, that much I ween, 

In the folds of the fan hid in betv/een. 

As I catch the fan's gentle whirr, 

Memory reverts again to her, 

Of all things blest, to me most dear. 



Pucms hu 4ttittic uon Wtntsl Page 28 



Hoto 4^Kemor5 ^Auiak^ns at t\}t 

How my soul rekindles at the memory of her 

Who gently crooned me to sleep; 
Beautiful, smiling face of all that's dear, 

Yet with that memory I weep. 
Gladdest of joys, and yet the deepest of pangs 

Sting the svveetness of those bright days, 
Low vibrant chords of lullabies sung; 

Mother, how thy voice ever with me stays! 

I look into thy face as but yesterday, 

When tliy loving arms welcomed my tottering feet, 
Catching the baby words I'd lisping say, 

Kissing the rose flush on my tender cheek; 
Lightly brushing the fair curls that fell 

Like a halo of sunlight on ray brow; 
Sweet the memories that with me dwell, 

Soothing the bosom and its heartaches now. 

How thy voice cheered when my heart sank low. 

How I trusted without a fear. 
And friends I loved proved false, a foe; 

Firm to the last, I knew you were; 
Weak and worn, by sorrow spent. 

Tired of Life's uncertain road. 
Sure of solace, to thee I went 

To cut the thongs that bound Life's load. 



Page 29 ^acms h^ Jltttie tiflit JUintcl 



What does the word accomplish imply? 

The putting forth of the best in one's self; 
On one's good qualities and fitness to rely, 

The condensation of honor above pelf; 
The calling together of man's higher impulse; 

To see and reach the summit's uttermost top, 
not to be foiled or nonplussed, 

Or a brow-beaten sickling, ready to stop. 

It's the indefatigable, stronger man, 

Summoning up that better nature, 
Ruling out the weaker self, that the firmer stand; 

Shining out a part from that primitive creature, 
The rubbing up and polishing of that shell. 

That the soul may look through its house of clay 
And be content with its second self to dwell — 

Not stung by contempt till it shrinks away. 

To accomplish is to make higher and better, 

To prune up the heart and brain by removing 
The useless growth like thongs that fetter, 

A general working over, a thorough improving; 
A renovating of oneself, blotting out the fault 

That im.pedes or blackens, or 'twould make us weak; 
A transplanting, exchanging, that stupid dolt 

For that bright, sagacious being that can do and think. 

To open up the soul's closed windows that light 

May arouse that inertia so like death. 
And that morbid world, a^ globe translucently bright. 

From that dark chaos blowing a sweet perfumed breath. 



^ocms hj iWittic tton JFintcl Page 30 



'Tis the living nearer that great and eternal throne, 
Whence time hath ceased to excuse our tardy day, 

When the account handed in is justly our own, 
Living above the shadows foul and gray. 

When accomplished, how ready we are to descry 

Thhe breaches and snares so coyly tor us set; 
lliat fine susceptible touch warns us to hie, 

That we escape the dangeris, keeping clear of the net. 
Even the glance is not lost or covered, 

While the inflections of the voice Vve quickly weigh, 
Yet beneath the robe of kindness, so deftly smothered, 

Like sunny little adders the game they tried to play. 

How (luickly we know an untutored blot, 

How different i. pretence to a natural fault. 
And yet keep cool now, did you not? — 
Pretending not to notice and hide what you tho't. 
Anything, so as to have no unpleasantness in the way; 

And yet from the soul you knew what was meant: 
Accomplished, that with such buffoons you play 
Your role of suave, careless don't care, content. 

What a bleak, tangled wilderness you may pass through; 

What an overturned cup yours may be — 
With scentless flowers, deprived of the dew, 

Where no soft velvet openings seem inviting thee. 
You gathered the roses for other lives 'twere dead, 

And touched the viol's chords that they might awake 
To listen to the sweet melody's vibrating tread. 

Stirred to its softest touclies for their dear sake. 



Page 31 J^atms h^ jXlxtiit Hmx JFintcl 



Though life has its sorrow, 

I'll find time to smile, 
And if I have to borrow, 

'Twill be from Joy's pile. 

And if I heave a sigh, 

T won't shock you with its moan; 
Though you may ask me why 

I sipped of joys blown. 

Sadness is a dross, 

The stagnation of our life. 

A whim that becomes a cross, 
A petted breeder of strife. 

And so if I don't like 

The way things are trying to go, 
I'm out on a strike, 

Overhauling the cause, you know. 

Setting things right, you see. 

How easy it is to smile; 
I tell you, no worry for me. 

For I borrow from Joy's pile. 



JJocms Im iWitttc tton Jfiintel Page 32 



Dry that scalding tear; 

Life isn't long; 
Push back the shadows drear, 

And let thy lips part with song. 

Look only upon the light, 
Let Love but feed thy soul. 

And there will be no night — 
The clouds but realms of gold. 

Let thy heart forever feast 

On the things justly fair; 
Then unblighted peace 

Will be a constant wooer there. 

Turn aside from woe; never mind 
How many the troubles arise; 

Heed not the voice that's unkind. 
Contented to let today suffice. 

At best, life isn't long; 

One by one the changes come; 
The brightest, gladdest life's soon gone, 

No more to rise our morning's sun. 



Things sweet and beautiful may 
Open up to cheer the hours; 

Life's journey is but a day, 
To fade like the wayside flowers. 



Page 33 l^ctms bu jUittic itott Jffiittcl 



Dry the tears and still the sigh, 

Life, beautiful life, thou art not long! 

Haste to make glad e'er you die, 

Life's sweet day with Joy's glad song. 



Poems lt\j 4Wittic tum J^intcl Page 34 



Just Bfstt'i^air 

I heard you say just yesterday 

The things that you were going to do; 
'How splendid!" I said; "will you come my way 

And tell me if your plans w^nt through?" 
For like great castled walls, 

Where the sunshine glints its spire, 
Were the pictured fancy balls 

To be unwound by sweet desire. 

1 looked each day to see if I 

Could behold thy art so grand, 
From the rim of the earth up to the sky — 

No trace could I see of thy skilled hand; 
There lay before me but a fog, a mist, 

That stretched far out o'er the glassy sea. 
A deep, gorgeous, tangled tryst. 

And I wondered again where you could be. 

Then I thought thy stroke perhaps was too fine 

For my dim eyes to try to behold. 
And I went on higher, till I reached the sublime. 

Where the mists had parted, and purple and gold 
Shot out its light like one vast ray, 

Beautiful beaker, filling with its richness a cup 
For the man that had started his efforts today. 

Here's a toast to him. Come, be social and sup. 



Page 35 Jccms im ^iirttie iron iFintel 



Wmih 

Would that I could but go 

Life's stilly dells to roam, 
And fling sunshine instead of woe 

O'er shadowy patches, like a frosted foam. 

Would that I could but hear 

The songs of bygone days, 
And the lips so glad and dear 

Sing to me as in those sweet days. 

Would that Time's mellow harp 
Waft those sweet chords again, 

And wake, as of yore, the dead heart 
To life as the zephyr's blowing fan. 

Would that the things once so fair 
Would ne'er prove an empty dream; 

Would that life had no care, 

But things sweet and glad as they seem. 

Would that no bitter blight 

Could touch the wine of Joy's urn, 

And life had no starless night, 

Or one empty bosom left to yearn. 

Would that life could but stay, 

Not seeming, but truly wild; 
One long, long, happy day. 

As for me it did when but a child. 



Ij^otms hs Jttittic Hon JJfintcl Page 36 



Wi^ ^ou ^a^ tl)c Btirl^ ^as 

Did you say the world was not lovely, 

That it was chill and cold, 
That its soft-vieing beauty had faded, 

So perfect, so pure to behold? 
That life had nothing to treasure, 

'Twas empty, cheerless and still, 
And the lovely fretwork of its brightness 

Was ravished by greed's hard will? 

Did you say the bands had rusted 

And severed love's deep tie, 
That the war of discontent was raging. 

Like the elements of a lurid sky? 
That the slime of a morbid excuse, 

In its stealthy, creeping shame, 
Hath poisoned the sweetness of conscience 

For the sake of a lordly name? 

Did you say that the world was losing, 

That peace, in its beautiful light, 
Was smothered out by the fumes of distress 

And its noontide turned to night? 
That the fiery tongue of greed 

Was lapping the draught in the bowl, 
That the toiler was wrestling wearily 

For the freedom of his shackled soul? 



Page 37 J3ocm5 hr ii!ittic Uon JPintcl 



Did you say that tlie world is not lovely, 

That a crevice like a mighty seam 
Had drained the river of mercy 

And blotted fair freedom's dream? 
And the spirit that soared like an eagle. 

The emblem of our native land, 
Must be trampled like the hated adder, 

For such is the work of man. 

Is there not One above us 

Who holds the law of right. 
The magnet of Truth and Wisdom, 

The usher of eternal light? 
Whose eye is ever watching 

That justice will yet conle, 
Who smileth as He doth command, 

Thy will, O Lord, be done. 



poems Inj iUittic Hon Shttd Page 38 



If you have a task to do, why, do it, 

And not sit and grumble, 
Or say how you rue it, 

Because you chanced to stumble 
And things went awry. 

Did not come as you like — 
Don't just gape and sigh, 

But be up and hit the pike. 

Yes, the old lane is dusty 

And makes you sweat a bit. 
And you're tired and thirsty, 

You're eyes filled with grit; 
Don't make the burden fall, 

Or your conscience put to ease; 
A fellow may have his gall. 

But he can't get along on these. 

Well, it doesn't make any odds 

If I had the gold or not; 
1 tramp and curse the gods 

While they enjoy the pot. 
You swear it wasn't fair, 

And all such foolish stuff, 
As you walk and pant for r.ir — 

Now I'm giving you no guff. 



Page 39 Poems b\j ^WMc Hon JFintcl 



There's may a cuss on the road 

YoiiTe never alone on the beat; 
Some well-schooled, as one vvould see, 

And plenty of tenderfeet. 
They are racking their brains most hard 

As they plow along each day; 
They hail me as pard, 

And ask it' I'm going that way. 

As we tile along the road 

The dirt flies as thick as chaff; 
None are in the spirit to goad 

Or give the others the laugh. 
They told how they were fleeced. 

And swore they'd see the day 
They'd eat their chuck in peace 

And oust the lords in sway. 

They filled the empty vault 

And paid their kingly rent, 
And the white-collared gents ne'er gave a thought 

Or cared a darn where they went. 
They raked in all their chips, 

Had fellows to pull them in; 
They shook their hands, gave friendly tips, 

And praised them time and again. 

Go on, old boy; you'll hit it yet; 

Then pat him hard on the back; 
With eyes dilated and hard set, 

For fear you'd fly the track. 



poems In) 4^ittie Uon ^intti Page 40 



When you step out there's another lad 
With brow so innocent, white; 

They're fishing for him, and, begad! 
They'll do him up just right. 

They stand behind the counter; 

They're in the business mart, 
No odds which way you saunter. 

There waits the keen-eyed shark; 
And if you haven't got the dough 

You may as well drop out; 
They redden, they're ashamed to know 

Their once staunch friend's about. 

You are too seedy looking, 

A skinflint you are termed; 
The smart set's your name not booking, 

So you are openly spurned. 
Keep on the beat; someone must work 

To keep the swells in trim. 
I'd hear them swear such awful oaths: 

I'll never do it again." 

There's monarchs on the beat as well, 

Fleet-footed and sharp-shod, 
Begrimed with dust, yet they fell. 

Life's stormy path they trod. 
They find the friendly hand withdrawn. 

The lips that cheered are mute; 
They have no word, you may pass on, 

As the commonest galoot. 



Page 41 ^0cma bg Jlitti^ ttm Jffintel 



Please stand aside, the breathing's hard, 

A choking's in the throat; 
Parched lips mumble out "Pard," 

Some still beautiful, some a whisky bloat. 
The demon of despair 

Darkens many an eager face, 
Once anxious, loved and fair. 

Long burdened by disgrace. 

At last content they step aside. 

Making room for the eager throng, 
Not daring to recall how hard they tried, 

But striving to forget some bitter wrong; 
Trying hard to turn the worn-out gaze 

On life's unsullied part. 
Shutting out the false for the days 

When heart was true to heart. 



Jjiums Inj 4tiittif tion Jl^mtcl Page 42 



I've trod life's burning sand, 
Aweary and alone, 

And watched some vessel strand 
On a miragelike sand dune. 

I've seen the shadows fade. 

And sunlight shine instead, 

The sear, dry w^aste a blooming glade, 
And live again, the heart 'twas dead. 

And the icy look of scorn 

Freeze on that beautiful face, 

And ere the opening of another morn 
'Twas clouded by disgrace. 

And the silent watcher, 

With no redeeming good, 

Ruled out and cast down. 

Was where that worthy stood. 

And the stately, costly mansion. 

Where peace was supposed to reign, 
But a bedlam of vice and passion, 

With bartered souls charred by gain. 

And the heart 'twas hard as stone, 
Melt at an Infant's cry, 

Yet the blessed name of Him disown 
And all the powers of God defy. 



Page 43 ^onns Mr ittittic iron jfinUi 



31 #*tiU 3^i?ni«mbcr 

Kind, sweet friend, I still remember 
The benevolent things you've done, 

The outstretched, willing, open hand; 
I haven't forgot you; no, not one. 

Amid life's cares thy dear, bright face 

Looks gently into mine; 
Cheering liie's desolate, barren waste, 

As I drift out with the flow of time. 

I heed not the sordid things, 

'Twould chill or cause regret. 
But lift from Memory's laden wings 

The jewels so brightly set. 

With life's soothing chords of music low, 
Again thy words come floating in. 

More soft and sweet as the years go, 
Blessing the days that cnce had been. 

Kind, sweet soul, where'er you roam, 
In some sad life you drop a gem; 

The thorn opes up to a rose full blown. 

And the sullen heart shall call you friend. 



^ocms b^ JUittie trnn ^intti Page 44 



Where the hawthorn's snowy plume 
Spills its fragrance on the gale, 

And the blushing roses bloom, 

The wild bird wakes with song the dell. 

In the moonlit shadows deep. 

Where the murmuring breezes stir. 

There an angel was laid to sleep, 
And that angel was my mother. 

On the downy blossoms fair, 

Softly the clinging dew drops smile, 

As memory bears me backward there, 
The song birds trill out, sweet and wild. 

And as the breezes are borne to me 
A low, green mound comes into view, 

A voice full of sweetest melody 

Brings back the image, mother, of you. 

Where nature's fairest flowers bloom 
And the creeping rose vines twine, 

With the gentle winds of sweet perfume. 
Asleep forever dear mother's lying. 

How the gushing, hot tears flow. 
How the dreams of childhood return, 

And the tender days of long ago 

Like molten sparks in the heart doth burn. 



Page 45 ^acms bn ^Uittie UxJtt J^intfl 



I feel the touch of a loving hand, 
I see the circle of the dear old home, 

Ere time Ijad broken the household band 
Or discontented sought they to roam. 

I kneel beside the silent tomb, 
I list to the breeze's heavy sighs. 

Where the white hawthorn's snowy bloom 
Wafts its sweetness where mother lies. 



^oems b^ ^f^ittie tfon ^intti Page 46 



4l0trin0 d^n 



It's those that keep moving on 
The prize is waiting for, 

Unmindful of the jostling throng, 
Or who the contestants are. 



If you have no settled aim 

In view, whither will you land? 

With force of will you can attain 

The craggy steep or summit grand. 

Concentrate the strength of self and see 
If holding on don't bring the luck. 

And grip your hold tight as can be. 

You'll find there's much depends on pluck. 

It's what we have to struggle for 
That is of worth to anyone; 

If you have the courage, nothing can bar 

You out from doing what others have done. 

With a cheery heart and eager feet 
Life's burden is lightly borne, 

And the pathway's tangled, uncanny deep 
Is a flowery mead without a thorn. 



Page 47 l^atms b^ iiittie tim ^intti 



'^Tis the dread of doing we sometimes find 
That makes the cankered pain, 

For some are content to lag behind 
Ere they'd strive one point to gain. 

Who of us that possesses pride 

Would shirk the duties owed to self, 
Or life's mistakes attempt to hide 

Beneath the label of inherited pride? 

It's the steady, earnest, faithful worker 
With will and nerve we daily seek. 
Not the timid, not the shirker. 

Not the grumbler, not the weak. 



P tic ma Ini il'littie tton JFtittel Page 48 



Jon't pie ycc^^ 

Don't be led around by the nose, 

Or wait for others to do your thinking; 
Don't do just as others propose. 

For there may be dregs in the draught you're drinking. 

The fair hand that holds the cup ofttime 

Is weak from the slime of an evil deed. 
Hid in the sparkle of the flashing wine. 

That an honest soul dare not heed. 

Don't believe that the tempter's snare 

Is only a trap for others set; 
Guard thy feet, of the pit beware; 

Linger not, ere you forget, 

'Tis not the friend in life we dread. 

But the enemy; how cautious we are; 
It is wise we look before we tread 

On the velvety cushions fair. 

'Tis those we trust that give us away. 

Not those we daily shun; 
AVith those we'd curb the words we say, 

The shoulder cold to them we'd turn. 

Don't try to be more than what you are, 

For sounding bells oft dive deep 
The pearl to find, rusty or fair; 

There's a difference between bitter and sweet. 



Page 49 '$otms h^ Jlittie mn JFintel 



Don't turn up your nose "at frivolous things, 
Or think yourself far better than others; 

A plain, neat garb is richer than silk 
When you have no trust or debtors. 



^oema b^ JUittie \tm ^intti Page 50 



31 Wauiin't dine a #'nap 

I wouldn't give a snap for any darned chap 

Wealthy or poor, it's the same. 
They're all alike, green or ripe, 

They're only seeking fame. 

If a girl is fair, they don't care 

For beauty or grace, they say; 
It's all for show, and that we know 

Is the style of the day. 

They'll put on good clothes and make a few shows, 

And people will think they're some; 
But wait a while, till the grog doth "bile," 

And I'll tell you then it's fun. 

On the sly they take a little rye, 

And flip a few cards between; 
The other dirt — oh, no, it don't hurt, 

For they think it isn't seen. 

All you girls with sunny curls. 

Be careful what you do, 
Else you get in a scrap with some slick chap 

And your life begin to rue. 

Life's never smooth as we would choose. 

It has its clouds and showers; 
Be careful the bright side you don't lose. 

For weeping and bitter hours. 



Page 51 ^oenta h^ Jlttt« tion ^intti 



There's many a way, I dare say, 

To lead you into this; 
They'll drink their toasts and compliments pay 

And promise a life of bliss. 

But, ah, dear girl, life's but a mad whirl, 

It's full of care and woe; 
It gleams and glows like a candle twirled 

To lead you on, you know. 



^0cms b^ JHittic tton JEintcl Page 52 



Jt's time ?|e Was aTomin^ 

Oh, yes, it's time he was coming, 

The shadows are heavy and still; 
The moonlight in dimples is playing 

On the far-away, vine-clad hill. 
The liquid winds are blowing, 

The nightingale's awake, 
The moon her beams is sowing, 

As I, waiting, lean on the gate. 

The shadows of evening lie dreaming, 

Sweet memories stir again, 
Like a netting of gold light streaming, 

Frosting the faraway land; 
Like a mist of fairest splendor. 

Weaving its mesh of gold, 
Where the ether dips down so tender. 

And lights the twilight scroll. 

The shadows are restless and broken, 

The nightingale's full of song, 
The frogs in the meadows are croaking, 

The wind drifts playfully on. 
At the gate there comes a clicking. 

And hurrying footsteps, too; 
My heart, it seems to be sinking, 

For, love, it must be you. 



Page 53 ^ocms by i^ittie uuu JFintfl 



Oh years, as you onward fly, 
Whither art thou borne? 
Deeply hidden in thy bosom lie 
Joys bright and sweet peace-shorn. 

Who can read the stories you must hold, 
Who can penetrate thy mist? 
Gay hearts will break, young heart grow old, 
Trying to unravel thy tangled trist. 

Beautiful faces will fade, and the brow 
That was fair as a vision of light 
Wither at thy touch that now 
Mocks thee in thy hurried flight. 

Oh years, who can tell, who shall know 
The secrets hidden in thy deep? 

Who can stand and gaze upon the fold as you unroll 
Joys and sorrows, and not weep? 

Is there one bosom that hath not felt 
The bitter pangs of woe, 
That memories awaken again only to melt. 
Filling up the tide of the past's dead flow? 

Is there one heart, oh, would you tell, 
That is free from longing or regret. 
That does not throb, that does not swell. 
And has no anguish to forget? 



^ocms Inj il^ittic Ucm Jfiittel Page 54 



Is there no cherished, loving dream 
Left to haunt the years now sped, 
To swell the music of thy stream, 
Oh, bygone years that we call dead? 



Page 55 ^aeiits by ^^^ittic tioit Wtntti 



I haven't felt very well todaj^ 

For I've been troubled, you see; 
Dolly is sick and couldn't play. 

She's as sick as she can be, 

Im terribly afraid it is the gout; 

Plumduff, pickles, and, oh. 
The awful lot of sauerkraut 

She ate, besides that cake, you know. 

And then I gave her for dessert 

Ice cream and a little pie; 
I didn't know 'twould really hurt 

Or make her sick enough to die. 

Here, dolly, you must take this pill, 

And a little quinine, too; 
A spoonful of castor oil, 

I reckon that will do. 

And then I'll give you a good sweat 

In the Turkish bath, you see; 
Some fever drops, and a little sugar, 

If you're as good as you can be. 

The doctor says, dolly dear, 

That when they plant me or you 
We'll never come up again down here— 

Oh, I'm so anxious to have you pull through! 



Jjluems hv fiWiik ttott ^hxtei Page 56 



You silly child, don't you cry so; 

Don't you know I'd dig you up? 
I reckon I would, just too quick, 

For you're all the world to me. 



Page 57 H^otms bg ^itiu lt0n JUintel 



%ifts 'treasure 



What shall I gather up in life's short span. 

Grief, bitterness and tears, 
The spoil the shatterer of joys so bland, 

To blight life's would-be perfect years? 

Shall I see naught but woe and pain. 

And let the heavy shadows fall, 
Like leaden lumps, to block life's train. 

Darkening the soul with its grewsome pall? 

Shall I treasure up the harmful things 

That pride and envy learn, 
Sanction the sarcastic stings 

So deep into the heart cells burn. 

Shall I forget the loyal soul, 

For baser ones instead, 
Looking only for rank or gold. 

No odds how low the walk they tread? 

Must my heart as stone ever be, 

A selfish, unloving one, 
The deserving uncared for by me, 

For the sake of a higher position won? 

Must I treasure up such folly in store. 

Or heed the forced smiles that aggravate. 



Jocms h^ jlittie tJan Jflintel Page 58 



Let my barque drift on alone to the shore, 
By such spoil freighted to its anchor gate. 

Must I not see life's truths aright, 
Joining in the hard-fought struggle, 

Helping the wanderer to see the light, 
Long stranded on the shoal of trouble? 



Page 59 l^otms b^ JUittie JJtm JUintel 



Pib f ou 5t»etr #peak llnkinbl^ ? 



Did you ever speak unkindly to one, 
When the words like an echo came back, 

Or frown in anger, and when it was done 
There seemed a void, for life a lack. 

And you wished that you could but recall 

The words so harsh thy lips let fall? 

Or let a glance so cold with scorn 

Chill some tender, loving gaze, 
To prick thy heart like a poison thorn, 

When recalling to memory other days, 
Some weary soul, weighted down with care. 
Leave to sink and perish there? 

When mists shut out and shadow the sky. 

Till it's no longer fair,, 
And the hopeless soul doth bitterly sigh, 

Weighted down by bitter despair, 
Oh, can't there be warm words instead, 
Like patches of gold o'er the shadows spread? 

Then why do we speak unkindly 

Of others — I wish I knew — 
Instead of good and friendly, 

As we would have them do? 
Why not let memory, dear and sweet. 
Be filled with the real instead of the cheat? 



^ocma bg jEittie ban ^inUi Page 60 



Do we gain by acts so coldly, 

Or feel better after it's done, 
And put on a front more boldly 

Before tbem to everyone? 
Oh, can't there be a cheerful side, 
Without such drift upon its tide? 

Can't there be for us in life 

Sunshine in its golden light. 
Instead of woe, worry and strife, 

Instead of gloom, instead of night, 
Instead of driving loved ones away. 
Oh, bring them back; oh, bid them stay. 

The smile is better by far than tears, 

The laugh is sweeter than sobs, 
And softer the tread of happy years 

Than those that, grating, clog; 
Then as the last low echo comes stealing back, 
Let it whisper, "Well done; there's nothing alack. 



Page 61 l^otms b|r jHittic tton Jflintel 



Ha! ha! I hear old Santa coming, 

I think it's high time, too. 
For him to be showing up this way, 

With a handsome deer and a jingling sleigh ; 
For I get so tired when I wait a year 

For dM the nice things he must bring, 
And wish that he would hurry here — 

There, I heard the door bell ring. 

I guess he's coming in for sure, 

Just look on the chimney top. 
I'd think he'd get so very dizzy 

He'd topple and have to drop. 
But they say his shoes are made of wax 

And stick most awful tight, 
For he's very fond of climbing 

Down the chimneys at night. 

Wliile his great big arms are running o'er 

With dollies and pretty toys. 
Skates and hoods, and funny books 

For girls and busy boys. 
And always sees what we need most; 

I'm sure he'll come this way, 
For he never aims to slight a child 

Upon a Christmas day. 



^oems Im iWitttf t^on ^il^intcl Page 62 



He looks into the corners 

Long after the lights are out, 
For the flabby little stockings, 

That he may fill them out; 
And then we hear a great big laugh, 

For we know he has been there, 
The stocking is running over 

And spilling out on the chair. 



Page 63 J^oems by iliittie iJon Jintel 



<©nl|| a WIfilc 

Oh, how sad when friends must part. 
The tear then falling but speaks of the heart. 

While the rainbow of hope invites with a smile, 
And whispers in love, "Only a while." 

Only for a while our sorrows can be. 
Each hour passeth by, the years must flfte; 

Each day brings a tear, a sigh or a smile, 
Yet hope softly whispers, "It's only a while." 

Only a while; but it may seem long 

Ere we join in praise with seraphic song, 

Approached by our Judge and met with a smile. 
Press forward, brave soldier, it's only a while, 

U's only a while we fight here below, 

Hope points out the way and gives us to know; 
Be ready, take aim and stand in file. 

Be true to the cross, for it's only a while. 

The bugle will sound its last reveille, 

The soldier come home to the great jubilee, 

And friend meet friend v/ith a loving smile, 
And the King meet those who fought for a while. 



|laems hv M'tttu ttmx 3^tttttl Page 64 



m 



Oh, give me life without its strife, 

And no sweetness is there, 
For toil, with its shadows bleak and rife, 
Only makes the background fair. 

If every wish, every longing came, 

Without one hope of the heart. 
And nothing but joy, not a single pain, 
Our bosom would never start. 

If our eyes could look forever away 
On an expanse of blue and gold, 

And no cloud in the far distance lay. 
The scene would be like a story old. 

If we never knew a single chill, 
And life was always the same, 
Nothing to worry or keep down the will, 
Could we tell when a joy came? 

If there was nothing the courage to test, 

Not a trial to overcome. 
When would we know we'd done our best. 

Or who the race had won? 

If the morrow no changes brought. 

Nothing new or fair. 
Would we ever stop to give it a thought? 

I'm sure we wouldn't care. 



Page 65 'j^atms b^ ^ttittif UCtt Jffintel 



Or if our days were shimmering in light. 
No odds how grand the scene, 

We'd like to have a little night 
In order to perfect the dream. 

If we could only life's flowers arrange 

In a wreath lovely and fair, 
Tomorrow you'd find it slightly changed, 

Perhaps one missing there. 

Oh, could we not have the strife 
To sweeten the joys and tears, 
Could we really call it life, 
These beautiful, transient years? 



Piums Ivu 4^^ittiv» tton ^^intcl Pagd 66 



Yes, you, dear, may sup of my cup 

If you are willing for me to share 
Yours in return; but me not spurn 

When I go to you, if you are but square. 

I'll give you flow'rs wet with the dew 

Of the fair springtide, and outstretched wide 

Of the good things of the her.rt, not stale and cold; 
But you yours from me cannot withhold. 

If your hand isn't free, do you expect mine to be, 

Or what do you think I am — 
Just a generous loon, a worm-eaten mushroom, 

For you my hospitality to share? Then give me a slam. 

If for you I should do these things good. 

The world says you'd meet me out on the way 
With a smile on the lip, then give me the slip, 

Take all I had — and for gratis I could pay. 

Yes, dear, to you I say, you can come my way 
If you are honest and the right to me bring; 
But if you aren't just so you can't come; nay, 
I'm not caring for you or your sting. 

It's but a bit of truth, and, O World! forsooth, 

May you take this lesson home: 
The sweet-laden honeybee is for self and not thee; 

They rob life's hive, then sting you out, a drone. 



Page 67 ^oems by iWittu i^an 3f\nU\ 



When everything goes awry, 

And hope, like fairies, only comes to die, 

The happy laugh a hollow sigh, 

You ask yourself the cause, and why. 

When things take a downward turn 
And upset life's brimming urn. 
You're out of patience till you spurn 
The tap3r of hope that's left to burn. 

All that you found strength to do 
Completely tailed, and you rue 
The life 'twas measured out to you, 
So bleak thy sky no ray stole through. 

Brave and ever unwilling to stop, 

You steel yourself for the fates that plot; 

If jagged the way you care not, 

You sigh and say, "I guess it's my lot." 

You've only ventured on the wrong road 
And pulled the string that tightened the load. 
And will find it a steady lug up hill 
Till in the place 'twas meant you should till. 

We can't all sit on the gilded throne, 
On life's weary plane you're not alone; 
The world lists not to your anguished moan, 
For it hath enough shipwrecks of its own. 



^oems hv ^Hittw ttm Jffint*! Page 68 



It's looking for better things than this, 
For the one that's brave, e'en though they missed, 
Freeing himself from the tangled tryst, 
Leaving defeat behind the shadows and mist. 

They look for the smile, the gladsome one 
Whose work was honorably and justly done. 
Like bolts of light, bright as the sun. 
Haloing thy steps, the victorious one. 

Yet many things upset life's full i^ail. 
But you'll never replace the draught to sit and bewail. 
Or bother other folks with the worldwide tale, 
For they, too, have a leak in the boat they sail. 

And, like you, they must be sure to make time. 
How can they loaf If they win, they can't stay behind. 
Ah the lamp that burns is not for the blind. 
The gem lies deep for the diver to find. 

Just be willing, see that you clear your own way, 
Don't wait to be pried loose, but start with the day; 
The world's not looking for failures, they say, 
But the one that has the power of the double X-ray. 

He's the fellow they boost to the topmost round, 
He's the fellow that starts the world with a bound; 
It's the waiting, it's perseverance thy efforts will crown 
And lift you up though you've long been down. 



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My heart grows hungry for the dear old charm 

That brightened the meadows glossy and fair. 
For the rustic joys out on the farm, 

For the fragrance that kissd the soft, sweet air. 
For the songs the lark to me would sing, 

Thrilling the bosom with notes so wild, 
The brown bee buzzing upon the wing, 

Out on the farm, when but a child. 

The truant feet the rose paths knew, 

Freedom's light swelled the soul; 
Down by the brooklet blue bells grew, 

And gay suntowers with caps of gold; 
The summer day was one sweet song, 

Showers of joy's enraptured charm, 
And though the years were long, so long, 

They seemed but short upon the farm. 

Oh, youthful joys, 'twere unchecked, 

Sweet aspiration still doth live, 
Thy cherished light to reflect, 

And early sports back to me give. 
I love thy wooded, tangled deep, 

The shadows half sunshide and shade, 
The mossy hillside's sloping steep, 

Out on the farm, where once I played. 



|loems hv jUitttc toon Jfiintel Page 70 



I love thy curious, limpid light, 

Nature's foaming tankard filled; 
Ruby-throated blossoms, soft and white. 

And trailing vines o'er the window sill. 
The gales that courtesied to me there, 

Permeating my soul with stories wild. 
The sweet, fragrant, balmy air, 

Out on the farm, when but a child. 

And when the busy day was o'er 

The crushed beams of noontide fell 
In a softness hazing the landscape o'er, 

The gay thrush warbled from out the dell, 
The gleams of twilight's last faint ray 

Lingered on the nightly still to charm, 
Catching up the echoes floating on the way 

That blessed the days out on the farm. 



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Though life is empty and void of cheer, 

Nothing good it seems to hold, 
A vacancy from everywhere. 

Massive clouds shutting out the gold, 
Shadows creeping o'er the rim, 

Breezes harsh come brushing by, 
A sweet voice wakes the silence grim. 

Whispering, "Thanks to Thee on high." 

'Tis not in the fullness of life 

And its noontide overflow 
We are weak from toil and strife 

Or droop in care when joy's aglow. 
Fain would we forever dream 

And forget in life's glad day. 
Gazing only on the blissful scene, 

Forgetful to thank Thee and pray. 

Oh, how dark! Yet 'tis best 

Those dull, weary hours step in. 
Their bitter chill to freeze thy rest 

And blur life's gold-belted rim. 
Let the heart throb, ache and feel 

That a thing of life it bo, 
Offering up its meek appeal, 

Thankful, Lord on high, to Thee! 



